A twig
A twig grows straight and slim
by a gurgling mountain brook
dreaming of the day he knew must come
when he’d be the tallest tree on the hill.
But erosion brings down an old tree
which falls dead centre on the twig,
bending it to ninety degrees, perhaps more:
but does it stop growing?
Does it wait for someone, some god,
to come along and move the offending tree?
It keeps growing, though bent and odd ;
nor does it care, for its search
is ever to the light in each new day..
An old fallen tree; a belief system:
one and the same, and many are those
who cannot go beyond this boundary.
They stop; they think that’s all there is;
the last question, the last answer.
Look to that twig! How does it know
to hunger for light in the darkness?
Life does have its strange burdens
but it graces us with some amazing gifts:
the power to change; to adapt:
to forgive all and to move on.